


Ache

by yusahana6323



Category: the GazettE
Genre: Heavy Angst, M/M, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2015-04-01
Packaged: 2018-03-20 15:49:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3656034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yusahana6323/pseuds/yusahana6323
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’d heard the words he never imagined would be said. He didn’t know how to handle how much he fell apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ache

    It didn't hurt anymore. It didn't matter. Or at least, that's what he tried to tell himself as he sat, legs drawn up, knees to his chest and his forehead resting on them, still trying to stifle his sobs. His hands, wrapped over his head as if to protect him from something, were getting numb from the strain of holding the almost-fetal position for so long. But he couldn't take himself out of it. He needed the comfort, the illusion that something was wrapped around him and loving him.

   Just like that. It was all gone, just like that. He didn't understand it, he couldn't understand how easily he'd been thrown away. His fingers tightened in his hair, to the point where it felt like he was going to rip some of the blonde tufts out.

   More than twenty years, always friends, always at each others' sides, sharing hopes and dreams, trusting and relying on each other, _loving_ each other... and in the blink of an eye, it no longer mattered. Reita no longer mattered to the man who made up the greater part of his life.

   The look in his dark eyes when he'd said it still hovered over the shivering blonde - the lack of light, or apology, or even sympathy. Nothing. Even his voice had been very matter-of-fact as he'd said the words Reita had never thought he'd hear: "I don't need you anymore."

   He knew the others cared. Logically he knew it, and they had made it all too clear with the innumerable texts and voice messages offering comfort and support, growing to desperate when he failed to respond to them in any way. He knew it from how many times they had come pounding on the door, calling to him to open and let them in. More ways than one, let them in. He knew it from how they even lifted the mail flap and peered through it to catch any sight of him. He supposed that was the only reason why the police hadn't been called yet; they knew he was alive. Physically, at least. Inside, he was dead. His heart wasn't beating. It had stopped the moment _he_ had turned his back and left for good.

   Reita had tried to let it go. He'd tried to find meaning in something, anything, from the tiniest loving chirps of his pet birds to the messages begging him to let someone know he was okay, begging him to know that he was loved and needed. But they didn't matter to him. He was empty, because the better part of himself, his entire past, had ripped itself from him and left him behind to bleed and die.

   He took a deep, shuddering breath, and that refreshed his tears. He let them fall, his voice too raw to escape him in anything other than whimpers now. He felt tired beyond his body, down into his very core, his soul - if he still had one. He wanted nothing more than to feel those arms around him, warming his cold frame. He wanted to feel that nose, those lips pressed against his temple. He wanted it so badly, that he felt it.

   "What are you crying for?" the familiar voice, quiet and laughing, murmured to him. "I'm right here. I always have been."

   Don't leave, he pleaded the hallucination. Please don't leave me. Don't leave me again.

   "Even if no one else stays, I'll be here. You're the one, you know? The one I run to. The one I return to. Only you."

   Despite how much his throat hurt, he started sobbing again, though the volume was still low. He sobbed and somehow curled tighter. Hearing the words made his whole body ache. Those words, that he had heard over and over again, told to him with a smile, in a loud and cheerful declaration, in a low and comforting reassurance, in a breathless murmur, those words were a lie. He wasn't anything to him.

   He heard his phone ringing in another room, and as usual, he didn't move an inch to answer it. It wasn't worth it. It wouldn't be the person he needed to hear from, wouldn't be the words he needed to hear. The delusion was all he had, and he didn't want to leave its arms. It was the closest thing he'd ever have again.

  But suddenly the warmth dissipated, and he was cold and alone again. Heart in his throat, he whispered, "Please, come back, please! I can't go on without you, I don't know how...!"

   Nothing aside from the soft cheeps from his birds, faintly audible from down the hall. Reita squeezed his eyes as tightly shut as he could and tried to bring it back. He went back over every single similar memory, when he'd been in that embrace and had the silky voice against his ear. Remembering only brought back the pain. No warmth, no delirious projection. Just the tears and the empty feeling of being alone.

   His whole life was a lie. Everything he had been through, everything he felt he had accomplished, had been taken away. Slowly, he lowered his arms. His hands instantly began to tingle with waves of pinpricks as his nerves began to uncramp. He stared blankly down at his hands and arms, pale with loss of blood flow. Without any prompting, his gaze drifted to the wristband he wore on his right arm. A moment, and then, with numb fingers, he pulled it away with difficulty. The scars, usually faded to almost invisible, seemed to stand out painfully against the whitened skin.

   Those scars. From so long ago, a time that seemed almost like a different life. When, angry and lonely as a teenager, he'd secretly cut himself to relieve the tumultuous emotions that had built up in him since his father had left. Like now, he'd hidden it under clothes or wristbands, and he'd managed to keep it unseen for so long. Until the day he'd slipped, and they'd been seen by...

   "What are these? Why... why would you do this?" As if happening in the present, he felt and almost saw the hands holding his arm, trembling fingertips tracing the scabbed cuts. "Why have you hidden this from me? I'd have been there to stop you...!"

   "Because it's all I can do," he murmured in the present, repeating himself, staring at the slim fingers and elegant wrists. "To deal with the pain."

   "Share it with me! Don't do this to yourself, please. I don't want to lose you, not for anything. All you have to do is call me and I'll help you bear it."

   "You can't do that."

   "I will do it. You're so important to me, Reita. You know that!"

   Again the hallucination began to fade, and he panicked, trying vainly to grab the hand and hold it in place.

   "You're important to me too. Don't leave me!"

   And once more he was left cold. Alone. Lied to. The scars had faded because _he_ had always been there to hold his hands steady, to give him a shoulder to cry on, to comfort him with that voice and that touch. Because he'd been there, Reita had put it behind him, survived, struggled through the confusion and anger. Because he'd promised he'd always be there, Reita had made it.

   Now the anger bubbled back up, from being abandoned again. Not by his father, but by his most important person. And no one was there to stop him now. No one cared.

   He found the strength to stumble to his feet and drag his starved body to his work room. Pulling open the top drawer of the chest full of odds and ends, he found his utility knife and pocket knife lying just where he left them. He listlessly grabbed and took whatever he managed to grasp with him as he made his way back to the hall and dropped down right where he had been. His body still wanted to curl up tightly, but the effort of walking tired it too much to find the energy to achieve it. His knees bent close to his chest, and that was about it. They were in perfect position for him to rest his right forearm on them, though, and breathing a bit irregularly, he stared at the scars again.

   No one returned to him. No one to hold him or comfort him or make him feel whole again. He lifted the knife - utility knife - and clicked the blade about an inch out. For a few moments, he paused, staring down at the gleaming razor, the scars that almost didn't exist.

    _"I don't need you anymore."_ The cool voice, changed from the warmth and affection, echoed inside his head.

   "Then there's no point in living." He moved the blade to his wrist and slowly dragged the blade lightly along a faded trail, and left behind a thin cut, which paled before it split with the blood that gushed up. The blood spilled over and traced down his scar with fresh crimson. Reita stared at it in almost fascination as the sting relieved a tiny bit of the anguish that was all that occupied his otherwise hollow body now. Red had always been his favourite colour. He always forgot how beautiful the colour of blood was.

   It trickled down his unmarred skin now, still taking with it in its thick flow a moment of heartbreak. He cut another scar again, watched the flow again, the trails combine. Scarlet dripped from his elbow onto his jeans. He drew another line, and now he heard that voice he so longed for.

   "You don't need to do this, Reita. I'm right here, you don't need to. Just let me take it away from you."

  "You took it all away. Everything. Even my heart." Another cut, and the touch returned, pressing to his wrist as if to stop the flow.

   "Stop this, please. Don't you know how much it hurts me to see you like this?"

   Reita ignored the voice, though his whole being ached to hear more of it. He sliced another path, pressing a bit harder than he intended. Blood instantly welled up and ran down his arm in a thick rivulet, pooling in the crook of his elbow. The bite was more than the others had been, and he chewed his lip to deal with it.

   "You're hurting, I understand that. But you don't need to do this to yourself. I'm here to help you."

   "You're not here. You left me alone with nothing to hold me together. You ripped me apart." He cut another line deeper, and his body ached and tingled with the release. He felt so much calmer, physically. This was why he had done it in the first place. The only reason he had stopped was because...

   "Please. You're hurting me too. Don't you understand that? You're hurting me so much!"

   He didn't want to hear a repeat of his memories. With a deep, shaky breath, he started cutting all the way down his arm, haphazardly, and felt his body release tension with each slice that filled with red. The stream that was dripping from his arm to stain the leg of his pants was unstopping now. As he stopped his actions, he had a sudden moment of clarity. He should at least apologise to the others, for not being as strong as they wanted.

   Groaning, he got to his feet once more and padded to his room, ignoring the reverse of blood flow and how it slid from his fingertips to pepper a trail beside him, or how he left sticky red footprints on his way. He found his phone in his room and carried it back to the hall with him, settling comfortably in the familiar place and position. He composed the message, addressed it to Aoi, and Ruki, and Kai. He didn't pause as he wrote the simple, <I'm sorry.> and pressed send. That accomplished, he dropped it to the ground and picked up the knife again, opening the wounds that were attempting to scab over.

   "Reita, please don't! Don't, I love you, don't do this to me!"

   He stopped at that, heart pounding to hear the words he longed for more than anything else.

   "I love you!"

   The delusions had learned to stop him. That was more than the real thing was doing now. His blade hovered above his wrist, hesitating and waiting to hear what was said next.

   "I love you. I'll say it to you over and over, whenever you want. Just, please don't do this. Put the knife down. It will be okay."

   Beginning to get light-headed, he almost did so. He wanted it. He looked around dizzily, hoping to see the familiar face, the warm smile on full lips, simmering coffee-coloured eyes, bright expression and glowing skin. But he was alone. All he heard was the voice, and imagined the touch on his wrist.

   "Put the knife down," his voice repeated. "Reita."

   He was alone. Tears welled up in his eyes again, slipping down his cheeks. He wanted him back!

   "Reita? Put the knife down."

  He shook his head and lowered the knife, once more reopening the cuts that were trying to clot, scab, stop bleeding. He cut deeper, as deep as he could keep silent for, to make sure they didn't close up as quickly.

   "Reita!"

   He redid every single one, the intricate web on his wrist and all the desperate clawmarks up his arm. He did it as best he could - his head was starting to feel heavy, his eyesight was blurring over, and his hand was shaking and resisting his commands. Finally deciding he was finished, he dropped his left hand to the ground, and the knife fell from his fingertips. Reita leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes to rest. The untouched flesh of his arm was numb, the only sensations coming from the aching burn of his mutilation.

   "Reita! Oh God, Reita!"

   "I love you," he whispered, if the spectre was still there to hear it. "I always loved you. You were always the one I loved and trusted. You were the only one I ever saw. You were what gave me life!" He choked up, swallowing hard. "You were the reason I lived. You were the reason my heart beat. So it's only natural that... that without you, I die."

   "Reita..."

   At that voice, he opened his eyes, and his breath caught in his throat to see him kneeling at his side, watching him with those eyes, that smile that had captured him from the first second at such a young age. Reita managed a weak laugh, struggling to keep his eyes open.

   "I love you, Uruha."

   "Reita, I'm here."

   "Hold me, one last time..."

   With a gentle smile, his best friend, his lover, his soulmate tenderly embraced him. Reita felt like if he tried, he could touch that warm body and kiss those soft lips. But he couldn't keep his eyes open anymore. He let them slide shut as he lay against the wall, body drained of strength.

   It didn't hurt anymore. Because Uruha's arms were around him.


End file.
